One and the Same
by IlanaNight
Summary: Jim's over for tea, and a bit of a chat. He really wished Sherlock could see how similar they really were.


"You know, we're not different at all, you and I." Moriarty's comment was offhand, as if he'd been considering it for a while but putting no weight behind the thoughts. His posture didn't change with the topic of conversation, he simply brought the tea cup to his lips, taking a sip.

"And how do you figure that? I solve crimes, and you cause them. There's nothing more different." Pulled in by the topic at hand, Sherlock sat in the chair across from Moriarty, pouring himself a cup of tea as he waited for the criminal's explanation.

A low chuckle passed the shorter man's lips as he set the tea cup down. Leaning forward a bit to close the distance between them, Moriarty tipped his head to the side with mock curiousity, "And can you not see the similarity between the two? After all, it's the reason you're so good at reading people and solving crimes."

Moriarty paused for dramatic effect, letting his words sink in. Sherlock was keeping his face calm, but Moriarty could see the gears working behind his eyes under the mask. The detective could see the answer just as clear as the criminal could, two minds of the same kind working at the same goal.

"You understand their motives, you empathise with them. And you know that if your work ever got too boring, it wouldn't be a large leap for you to take the gun in your own hands. The only difference between you and I is that I've already made the leap. I'm just waiting for you to join me now."

The smirk on Moriarty's face was smug, he had no qualms that one day Sherlock would stand by his side. His line of work was much better at keeping their attention, after all. And Sherlock was slowly cracking under the pressures of society here, Moriarty could see it. Too many imbeciles for a man of his intellect to be dealing with every day.

Conversation lulled between the two as they watched each other instead. Piercing blue eyes trailed over Moriarty's features, wondering if this was another mask, another persona, or if he was getting a glimpse of who Moriarty really was behind closed doors. While Sherlock contemplated, dark brown eyes took in the sight with unparalleled glee.

Sherlock was beautiful when he was deep in thought, and Moriarty knew he was the only man that could get the detective so ensnared.

"How do you know I'd join you? If I ever was to turn to crime, why would I take up arms with you, when I could do just as well on my own?" The question was entirely hypothetical, Sherlock had no intention of doing just that, but he was also curious on Moriarty's self-assurance.

"Why, my dear, that's the easiest part of this whole puzzle? Because you'd have more fun with me than you would anywhere else, and you know it. It's what we both want, isn't it? To be entertained, to never be bored, and that's what I'm offering you. Entertainment in any form you desire." The inflection to his words and the grin that accompanied them were more than suggestive.

It didn't take a master of deduction to understand what Moriarty was hinting at. The two had moved closer subconsciously during their conversation, there was now less than a foot between their faces. Close enough for their breaths to mingle, but not close enough to touch.

"What makes you think I'm interested in entertainment of that sort, Jim? I've never felt a need for companionship before, and if I'm to become some criminal mastermind, surely I would desire it even less." Sherlock was resisting the urge to pull back, he didn't want to back down from the challenges in Moriarty's gaze. To do so would be to admit defeat, and that wasn't something Sherlock Holmes did with ease.

"Why not see for yourself if it suits you?" The question was the only warning Moriarty gave before swiftly closing the distance between their mouths, capturing the detective's lips beneath his own. Sherlock was unresponsive to start, but when a hand wound its way into dark curls, he began to respond, kissing back with curious vigour.

Their kiss was much like their conversation, a game of chess, an exercise in give and take. Sherlock's hands found their place in the small of Moriarty's back and the nape of his neck, supporting him as Moriarty held Sherlock closer by the hand in his hair. Teeth worried lips, tongues swept along the edges of mouths, and all the while their breaths came as one.

Ragged, panting gasps broken by the soft sounds of skin against skin. The noise of two pieces that fit together perfectly, a beautiful harmony.

Perhaps Moriarty was right. They were one and the same after all.


End file.
